A Carpathian Campaign: The Powers Book 1 by Alma Boykin

Author:Alma Boykin [Boykin, Alma]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Alternate History, World War 1, Austria-Hungary
ISBN: 9781773420011
Publisher: IndieBookLauncher.com
Published: 2016-12-21T07:00:00+00:00

“My lord?”

István stopped pacing the library floor and turned to see a maid and his father standing in the doorway. The clock chimed ten. He must have caught the first morning train from Eger. “My lord father, it is an honor,” István began the formal greeting.

“Sit down, boy. Miss, get us something hot to drink,” Janos ordered, stalking into the room. “I said sit. You look exhausted. And where is your lady wife?”

István pointed up, to the first floor. “She has begun labor. The nurse midwife, Sonja, is with her. So I am here.”

Janos turned, went back to the doorway, and spoke to the person waiting in the hallway in rapid-fire German. A woman replied, and István heard rapid footsteps. His father watched for a moment before stalking to where István stood by the closed window. “I said sit.” István felt a weight of command behind the words, House Head speaking to House member. And pain, pain of his father’s mind touch against his shields. István staggered despite himself and struggled to reach the settee before his legs gave out. He sat hard and heard the delicate wood creak in protest at the assault.

“Blessed St. Imre,” Janos said. “What’s wrong?”

Teeth clenched, István concentrated on breathing, willing the pain back into his ribs and arm, where it belonged. In and out, in and out, in-two-three-four out-two-three-four, he chanted silently, forcing his mind to focus on a tear-blurred flower on the carpet between the toes of his shoes. The pain faded, more slowly than before, until he could look up. He found a rumpled handkerchief in a jacket pocket and wiped his eyes. “I do not know, my lord father. It appears to have come about from a head injury.” The precise enunciation helped hide the fear.

“Damn.” Janos stirred the small fire in the fireplace to life. István heard a woman’s step and Janos saying, “Thank you.” Janos waited until the maid, Ludmilla, finished setting out the coffee and curtsied her way out of the room before saying anything more. “What else?”

“If you mean what else is wrong, I have cracked and broken ribs, and my arm is broken in two places.” The scent of the coffee turned his stomach and István breathed through his mouth. He looked up to see his father, turquois eyes unfocused, looking into the distance as he spoke to someone, perhaps the Power, or the House member on rely duty. As his stomach settled, István decided that he wanted a little coffee, and scooted to the edge of the settee, then leaned onto one knee. From there, if he stretched carefully, he could get a cup, pour, and return to the settee without twisting or reaching too far. Lord, how much longer before the pieces knit together? The ribs were the worst. The doctors wanted him to wear a corset brace, but he refused. He sat straight enough as it was, being a cavalry officer and a gentlemen, thank you.

“I see.” His father returned, so to speak, and poured his own coffee before going to stand by the fire once more.

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